The Man I Love
by ficcychick
Summary: A somewhat silly fic featuring Greendale's beloved Dean and his favorite member of the study group, one Jeffrey Winger. A bit of one-sided romance for the poor Dean, even though I do love him so. Some bits pilfered from ep 3x07, some from Ella Fitzgerald.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

I really love the Dean, and while I'm not a Dean/Jeff shipper, I can see what it is that the Dean sees in Jeff. This fic is set slightly before, during and after episode 3x07, "Studies in Modern Movement."

There was a faint click, and then the sound of the needle hitting a record. After a few scratchy seconds, the song began.

"I want a Sunday kind of love…the kind that lasts past Saturday night…"

Dean Craig Pelton crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself as he swayed back and forth to the smooth heavy voice of Ella Fitzgerald. It was a sound which wrapped around him as if he were cradled in a cocoon of sweet chocolate pudding.

It had been just over two years since he had first laid eyes on Jeffrey Winger, and since that fateful day everything in his life had changed. The Dalmatians, the paintball, the ridiculous overly chirpy announcements—hell, even the printed condoms at the STD fair were all sadly misguided attempts to get Jeff to notice him. Okay, maybe it was a stretch blaming the Dalmatians on Jeff, but he was so lonely, and after all, weren't dogs supposed to be man's best friend?

"When I think of all the time and money I've wasted," he said aloud to no one but himself, the full-size standee of Chaka Khan that claimed permanent residence next to his stereo, and the otherwise empty room, made less so by the sound of Ella's voice.

In the corner of the room sat a sewing machine surrounded by piles of sequined and lamé fabric, all remnants from his many costumes.

Gods, he had been so stupid to think that peacocking would work on someone like Jeff Winger, a man who exuded sexuality from every pore. Those tight blue button-down shirts, the hair perfectly sculpted to look as if he'd just gotten out of a bed in which he'd had a very good time. O amount of glitz and feathers could compare, and a man so used to turning heads was hardly likely to turn his own toward a wiry bald man with glasses and an obvious sexual deviance.

"Oh, I've been such a fool!" he cried, and swept the fabric to floor where it lay in a glittering heap.

To console himself, the Dean decided to take part in one of his other favorite activities: snooping on his favorite students' personal communications via the Greendale email system. He began to type in the name of Abed Nadir, the film nut of Jeff's study group, because Abed usually had the inside info on the hottest movies being released, but stopped himself. Who was he kidding? He wanted to spy on one person and one person alone: Jeff Winger himself.

Scrolling down the list of emails, the Dean stifled a yawn. Spam, spam, one from Annie reminding Jeff about her upcoming move and how she would appreciate his help. Another from Britta telling Jeff that he had better not try to weasel out of helping with the move or she would make him pay, one from Troy and Abed giving him their Twitter address for their LiveTweet of Annie's move, and one from Pierce that very cryptically said only "Jewie" in the subject line and was otherwise blank. In other words, BORING. However, there was still the sent folder left to sort through. Perhaps it might yield sweeter fruit.

Excuse for this class, excuse for that class, subscription renewal to "Maintaining Hot Abs Monthly"…what was this?

"I know I said I would help with Annie's move, but I just don't feel like being around anyone this weekend." It was an email from Jeff to his therapist explaining how he wanted to part ways with the group for the weekend. Finally, a bone!

"How can I play this to my advantage?" the Dean wondered aloud, and suddenly it hit him. What did Jeff Winger value more than his special cache of toiletries? The answer was simple enough: Finding the clothes to make the man. A few clicks and some quick research later, and the Dean had all he needed to reel Jeff in hook, line and sinker.

He quickly created an email profile under the name "Physique25" and sent a message informing Jeff of a sale at the Gap. It wasn't untrue, and besides, it was in all likelihood the best bait for his prey. Now all he had to do was spring the trap.

"At last my love has come along," Ella crooned over his shoulder. The Dean smiled.

"Yes he has, Ella dear. Yes he has."

xxx

Dean Pelton made his way slowly toward The Gap. He had seen Jeff come in earlier, all sunglasses and sculpted hair and abs, but he wanted to take his time to pounce. He looked at the glass ornaments at one of the random stalls in the mall, pausing to admire a pair of Dalmatians nestled together in what could only be described as a familiar embrace. He followed that up by getting a soda in the food court, mostly Diet Coke with enough Cherry Coke to give it the flavor he desired without all those extra calories to add to his girlish figure. After a few sips and a browse through a copy of "Inside Taylor Lautner" someone had left on the table, which proved to be both disappointing and utterly misleading, he decided it was time to make his move. Balancing his sunglasses perfectly atop his head, he walked into the store and toward where Jeff stood.

" Well hey there, stranger! What a coincidence, huh?" His heart was racing as he tried to keep things light and airy. "This is just like that Lake House movie. I can only assume, even I have limits." Okay, that was a lie. He had seen it, and several times too. It was riddled with plot holes and incredibly inaccurate physics premises, but sometimes a man just needed a bit of Keanu after a hard, lonely day. If Jeff was surprised to see him, he hid it well with contempt.

"Dean Pelton." His tone was even, and annoyed. Time to turn up the charm.

"Jeff, it's Saturday. Call me Craig. Off campus I'm just a Craig-ular Joe!" What was with the bad puns all the damn time? Ugh, what a horrible self-protection reflex. Fuck it, he'd move in for a feel. "Ooh, what'd you get?" He reached out and brushed Jeff's abs, a pretense that no one bought. "Ah! Now I feel like I have to head back out there. Mmmm." Okay, the abs were nice. No, they were more than nice, they were outstanding all the way down to the tingle in his happy place, but he had to give some credit to the fabric and detail of the shirt.

" Craig," Jeff said, but with no love in his voice. " It's nice to see you but I actually have to run."

Damn. It looked like he was going to have to use his gambit much sooner than predicted.

"Oh yeah, you're probably heading to help Annie move, right?" Jeff's face said it all. He knew he was trapped now.

" Oh, I follow Troy and Abed on Twitter," the Dean continued. " Looks like Annie's moving and you're…sick at the hospital?" He paused for effect. "Curious. I could head there myself. I could tell them you said hi." There was no mistaking the threat veiled beneath the sentiment.

"I'd rather you didn't," Jeff said, but if he was nervous he didn't show it.

"Well maybe I won't have time. Especially if we're doing….lunch?" The Dean gave Jeff his most suggestive look and sipped at his soda until the other man finally relented. It took some time, but he finally agreed to go to the Mexican restaurant housed in the mall between the Orange Julius and Auntie Anne's Pretzels.

Jeff walked quickly, holding his bags up near his face as if to hide. The Dean didn't care. He was spending time outside of Greendale with Jeffrey Winger—he was floating on a pink cloud of unicorn dreams. They were seated in the middle of the restaurant where everyone could see them, something he had planned beforehand, giving the hostess $20 and six free credit hours for the privilege.

Jeff was ready to order almost immediately, barely taking the time to glance at the menu.

"I'll have the Siesta Salad and an iced tea," he said, never taking his eyes off the Dean's face. However, his stare was not so much one of love or even interest, but rather pure, unadulterated hatred.

" Excellente," the waiter said. "And for you?"

"Ahem." The Dean coughed and rustled his menu a bit, looking Jeff in the eye. There was no way he was ordering for himself on a date. Jeff took the hint, but at what price?

"The gentleman will have a Top Notch-os and a watermelon margarita." Victory at last! It was a small one to be sure, but a victory nonetheless. Time to take it to the next level.

"Thank you, Jeffrey. So…any brothers or sisters?"

"And we'll take the check, too," Jeff called after the waiter, much to the Dean's dismay.

"Ohhh, what's the rush?"

"We're eating lunch, and then I'm leaving," Jeff replied, with a look that all but punched the Dean in the stomach and crapped on his dreams. This was not going as planned, and desperation began to set in, as it always did. He looked Jeff squarely in the face and put on his best guilt voice.

"Okay. I just hope that I don't bump into your study group on Monday. And I pray that they don't ask me who I saw at the mall on Saturday, because unlike a certain someone I just don't think I could lie to those sweet people." He let the words sink in.

"Dean, this is blackmail."

"Ah, call me Craig, and call blackmail A Day at the Mall with Craig. Because that's all I require, Jeffrey. You and I are going to have some fun, and create a few memories, and I suggest you get into it. Because that counts." Upper hand regained. Out of the corner of his eye, the Dean could see a mariachi band approaching.

"Song for the senor, senor?" the leader asked. After a pause, Jeff spoke, his voice dry and passionless. Well, that was better than nothing.

"Adios Amores."

"Oh, what a surprise. "

The song passed quickly, as did the meal. In fact, the Dean barely remembered a thing, the nachos sliding down his throat without effort as he listened to Jeff recount his days as a lawyer. It wasn't very interesting, but he certainly seemed less bitter about it all, and it was just lovely to hear his voice.

Once the bill was paid, the Dean led Jeff to the recording studio housed in the former Waldenbooks store. He had paid for an hour beforehand, and he couldn't wait to surprised Jeff with the first song. He walked into the room where the machine was housed, the green screen glowing with languid fire behind him.

"Whoaaa, I just stand here?" He noticed Jeff hadn't followed him all the way in. "Come on, Jeffrey, get in here!" he said, laughing. "This is gonna be fun! Or else. So we just punch in the numbers?"

"That's right," the man in the booth answered.

The dean punched the numbers in and the music to Seal's "Kiss from a Rose" began to play over the speakers.

"Okay. You know this one, Jeff. We've sang it a thousand times together…in my mind. Huh? Uh?" He could see that Jeff was reluctant, and needed a little guidance. "Come on, Jeffrey, make or break time! Unless you want to be back here netx Sat-tur-day." Just like that, everything changed.

"There used to be a graying tower alone on the sea…" It was magical. Jeff's voice was everything the Dean had dreamed it would be, and he felt that tingle in the downtown area once again, which gave him the strength to belt out the next line.

"You became the light on the dark side of meeeeee…"

The next four minutes passed in a haze, Jeff getting into the song more and more with every verse until finally the end came, and all too soon.

"Hmmhmm, uh," the Dean muttered, overcome with emotion. It had been better than he had imagined, and he wiped away a tear. Best of all, he now had a video of it to treasure forever. "That was great!"

"Yeah, it might have been a little fun," Jeff admitted, albeit a bit reluctantly it seemed. The Dean was overcome by his feelings. Excitement, attraction and love flowed through him and broke down the gates that had held his secret in check.

"Huhhhh! Seeee! And you emailed your therapist that you wanted to be alone this weekend." He laughed at the absurdity of such a notion, and then Jeff turned to him, anger blazing in his eyes.

"What?" Jeff's voice had grown cold all of a sudden, and the Dean realized what he had done. He tried to backtrack, to cover it up, but he had a feeling it was too late.

"Hmm? What do you wanna do next? I paid for a full hour, so…" Jeff cut him off, coming toward him in a manner that bespoke murder rather than animalistic sex.

"I emailed my therapist from my Greendale account, the same account where I received an email from Physique 25 telling me about today's sale. Is that why you're at the mall? You read student emails?"

"Ohh, now the Patriot Act says I can do it, Jeffrey, technically," the Dean said, coming up with the first excuse that sounded semi-legitimate. "Need I remind you the nation is at war?" Jeff reached out and slapped the microphone from his hand.

"I will kill you!" He was pure anger by this point, and while the Dean was afraid, he was also so turned on that his pants were becoming incredibly tight in the region of his crotch.

"No Jeffrey, no! Jeffrey, Jeffrey come on! Just remember we were making memories!" The Dean cried, and screamed as Jeff grabbed him as if to beat the life from him.

"We weren't making anything!"

"Jeffrey, don't let the terrorists win!" The Dean cried, but it was too late. He had played his hand and lost. The ship had sailed, and a hundred other clever euphemisms that basically meant the same thing: Jeff Winger was never, ever going to have sex with him.

xxx

That night, the Dean sat alone in his apartment once again listening to Ella Fitzgerald. He held a steak to his eye with one hand, and in the other he held a can of beer, whose eleven brothers sat waiting in the refrigerator. The song was different tonight, but it couldn't have been more appropriate.

"Someday he'll come along, the man I love, and he'll be big and strong, the man I love, and when he comes my way I'll do my best to make him stay…he'll build a little home just meant for two, from which we'll never roam; Who would, would you? And so all else above I'm waiting for the man I love…"

Just because it hadn't happened today didn't mean it never would.


End file.
